CHAPTER THREE – THE NEW LEAD
1926 Words
June 19, 2024
8:15 A.M.
The atmosphere inside Blackthorn City Police Headquarters felt heavier than usual.
Officers walked past each other without saying much.
Phones kept ringing.
Printers hummed endlessly.
Televisions mounted on the walls replayed the same breaking news.
"...Richard Hawthorne has become the third victim linked to the mysterious killer known as The Fallen Saint..."
Nobody bothered changing the channel.
Everyone had already seen it.
Everyone wished they hadn't.
The elevator doors slid open.
Detective Damien Carter stepped out.
The conversations around him grew quieter.
A few officers greeted him.
He nodded without slowing down.
He looked exhausted.
His coat rested over one shoulder while the other hand held Richard Hawthorne's case file.
The image of the little white saint refused to leave his mind.
"Detective."
A young officer hurried toward him.
"The Commissioner wants to see you."
Damien wasn't surprised.
"I'll be there."
The officer hesitated.
"He said... immediately."
Damien sighed.
"Of course he did."
He turned and headed toward the Commissioner's office.
Every step felt heavier than the last.
Three victims.
Three confessions.
Three weeks.
Nothing.
Not a fingerprint.
Not a strand of hair.
Not a single witness.
Just a city that was slowly losing faith in its police department.
Damien stopped outside the office.
He knocked twice.
"Come in."
He pushed the door open.
Commissioner Edward Graves stood beside the large window overlooking the city.
His suit was perfectly pressed.
His hands were behind his back.
He didn't turn around immediately.
"You've seen the crime scene?"
"Yes, sir."
"And?"
Damien placed the file on the desk.
"It's him."
The Commissioner finally turned.
"I know."
"The confession?"
"The same pattern."
"The saint?"
Damien nodded.
"Beside the paper."
Silence settled between them.
The Commissioner slowly sat down.
"I've spent the last hour answering calls from the mayor."
He rubbed his forehead.
"The governor called too."
"And five different news stations."
Damien remained quiet.
"I need something, Carter."
"So do I."
"I need results."
Damien looked down for a second.
"I'm trying."
"I know you're trying."
The Commissioner's voice softened.
"But trying isn't enough anymore."
Damien looked back at him.
"What are you saying?"
The Commissioner took a deep breath.
"I'm taking you off the case."
The words landed like a punch.
Damien stared at him.
"...What?"
"You heard me."
"You can't be serious."
"I am."
Damien stepped closer to the desk.
"Sir, I'm closer than anyone."
"I know the victims."
"I know the timelines."
"I've studied every confession."
"I've barely slept for weeks."
"And now you're removing me?"
The Commissioner didn't raise his voice.
"The city is losing confidence in us."
"They need hope."
"They need a fresh start."
Damien let out a bitter laugh.
"So that's it?"
"I'm your sacrifice?"
"No."
The Commissioner shook his head.
"I'm bringing someone in."
Someone knocked on the door.
"Come in."
The door opened.
A young woman stepped inside.
For a brief second...
The room became strangely quiet.
She wore a simple white shirt tucked neatly into black trousers.
The sleeves were rolled just below her elbows.
A silver wristwatch rested on her left wrist.
Her dark brown hair was tied into a low ponytail.
A few loose strands framed her face.
She wasn't wearing heavy makeup.
She didn't need to.
Her skin was smooth.
Her features were soft but striking.
The kind of beauty that wasn't loud...
It simply existed.
Her hazel eyes quietly studied the room before settling on the Commissioner.
She carried a brown leather file beneath one arm.
Confident.
Calm.
Composed.
She looked no older than twenty-seven.
Damien frowned.
This was the replacement?
The Commissioner stood.
"Naomi."
"Good morning, sir."
Her voice was gentle.
Professional.
Not nervous.
Not eager to impress.
The Commissioner looked between them.
"Damien Carter."
Then at the woman.
"Naomi Winters."
They exchanged a brief nod.
Neither of them smiled.
Neither spoke.
The Commissioner walked around his desk.
"Naomi is one of the best profilers this department has."
Damien folded his arms.
"A profiler?"
"Yes."
"She's been consulting on violent crime cases for years."
Naomi finally spoke.
"I'm not here to replace your experience, Detective."
"I'm here because another family lost someone this morning."
Her eyes met Damien's.
"And we don't have time to argue."
Damien studied her for a moment.
She wasn't arrogant.
She wasn't trying to prove herself.
She was simply stating a fact.
Before he could reply...
Another knock came from the door.
"Come in."
A man walked inside.
He was tall.
Almost the same height as Damien.
Broad shoulders filled out his navy-blue suit.
His neatly styled dark hair matched the trimmed beard along his jaw.
His warm brown eyes carried an easy confidence.
The kind that made people trust him without knowing why.
He looked around the room before smiling politely.
"You wanted to see me, sir?"
The Commissioner nodded.
"Perfect timing."
He looked at Naomi.
"This is Detective Logan Brooks."
"Your partner."
Logan extended his hand without hesitation.
"Logan."
Naomi accepted the handshake.
"Naomi."
"It's nice to finally meet you."
"You too."
Damien watched the exchange in silence.
The Commissioner picked up Richard Hawthorne's file and handed it to Naomi.
She didn't open it.
Instead, she asked quietly,
"Can we go to the crime scene first?"
The Commissioner raised an eyebrow.
"You don't want to read the reports?"
"I will."
She glanced at the file.
"But reports tell me what people saw."
"I'd rather see what they missed."
The room fell silent.
For the first time that morning...
The Commissioner smiled.
"That's exactly why I asked for you."
He looked at Logan.
"Take her to Richard Hawthorne's house."
"Everything you need is already there."
Logan nodded once.
"Understood."
Naomi finally accepted the file.
But she still didn't open it.
Instead...
She turned toward the door.
Ready to meet a killer...
Who had never once made a mistake.
———
Logan reached for the office door and held it open for Naomi.
"After you."
"Thank you."
The moment they stepped into the hallway, curious eyes followed them.
News travelled fast inside police headquarters.
Everyone already knew Damien had been removed from the case.
Everyone also knew who had replaced him.
Some officers whispered among themselves.
"Is that her?"
"The profiler?"
"I thought she'd be older."
Naomi pretended not to hear them.
She had grown used to people judging her before she even spoke.
Logan noticed the whispers too.
He smiled faintly.
"Don't mind them."
"I don't."
"They'll stop talking once they see you work."
Naomi glanced at him.
"You sound very confident."
"I've read your reports."
She looked surprised.
"You have?"
Logan nodded as they entered the elevator.
"You helped solve the Eastbrook Church murders."
Naomi looked down for a second.
"It wasn't just me."
"But your profile caught the killer."
"The detectives caught him."
"The profile only helped."
The elevator doors closed.
For a moment...
Neither of them spoke.
Logan leaned casually against the wall.
"So..."
"What made you become a profiler?"
Naomi smiled politely.
"I ask questions."
"I don't answer them."
Logan laughed.
"I walked into that one."
"You did."
The elevator doors opened onto the ground floor.
Outside...
Reporters crowded the front entrance of the headquarters.
The moment they spotted Logan...
Cameras flashed.
"Detective Brooks!"
"Is it true Detective Carter has been removed from the case?"
"Who's the woman with you?"
"Is she the new investigator?"
Logan didn't slow down.
He simply guided Naomi toward an unmarked black SUV parked near the entrance.
Once inside, he locked the doors.
The noise outside disappeared.
He started the engine.
"You'll get used to them."
"I hope not."
He smiled.
"I said the same thing three years ago."
They drove away from headquarters.
For a while...
The only sound inside the vehicle was the soft hum of the engine.
Blackthorn City was already awake.
People hurried along the sidewalks with cups of coffee in their hands.
Buses stopped every few streets.
Stores opened one after another.
To everyone else...
It looked like an ordinary Thursday morning.
Naomi watched the city through the passenger window.
"Do people always look this afraid?"
Logan glanced at her.
"You noticed."
"They're avoiding eye contact."
"They're walking faster."
"And nobody is standing alone."
Logan nodded.
"That's been happening since the second murder."
"The Fallen Saint has everyone looking over their shoulders."
Naomi remained quiet.
A few seconds later, she asked,
"What kind of detective is Damien Carter?"
Logan thought about it.
"The kind you'd want beside you when things go wrong."
"He works hard."
"Too hard."
"He takes every victim personally."
Naomi looked ahead.
"And now the case has been taken from him."
"He's not happy."
"I wouldn't be either."
Logan sighed.
"The Commissioner didn't have much choice."
"The city wants answers."
"So does Damien."
They drove the rest of the way in silence.
Twenty minutes later...
The SUV slowed to a stop.
Police tape surrounded a large white mansion.
Several news vans were parked across the street.
Uniformed officers guarded every entrance.
A young officer immediately hurried over.
"Morning, Detective Brooks."
Logan nodded.
"Morning."
The officer looked at Naomi.
"You must be Miss Winters."
"Naomi is fine."
"I'm Officer Ethan Cole."
"I'll be assisting both of you today."
Logan thanked him before turning to Naomi.
"Ready?"
She looked toward the mansion.
Her eyes calmly studied everything.
The reporters.
The police cars.
The neighbours pretending not to watch.
The upstairs curtains moving slightly.
Someone was watching from inside another house.
She noticed.
She noticed everything.
Without saying a word, she slipped on a pair of latex gloves.
Logan raised an eyebrow.
"You haven't even gone inside."
Naomi adjusted the gloves around her wrists.
"I'd rather not touch something I shouldn't."
A small smile appeared on Logan's face.
"Fair enough."
The three of them walked through the front door.
The house was quieter than Naomi expected.
Forensic officers continued taking photographs.
Others dusted furniture for fingerprints.
The air smelled faintly of fresh coffee.
Officer Cole pointed toward the room at the end of the hallway.
"He's in there."
Naomi didn't move immediately.
Instead...
Her eyes wandered across the room.
Every picture frame.
Every chair.
Every window.
Every tiny detail.
Nothing escaped her.
Only after several silent seconds did she continue walking.
She stepped into the room.
Her gaze briefly landed on Richard Hawthorne.
Then...
It shifted.
Not to the body.
Not to the little white saint.
But...
To the cream-colored paper resting quietly on the table.
She stopped.
Something inside her stirred.
She couldn't explain it.
The paper looked...
Familiar.
Not the handwriting.
Not the confession.
Just...
The paper itself.
Her brows drew together.
She couldn't take her eyes off the paper.
Her heartbeat slowed.
Then quickened again.
Why...
Why did it look so familiar?
Logan noticed the change in her expression.
"What is it?"
Naomi didn't answer.
She slowly walked toward the table.
Without touching the confession, she leaned in for a closer look.
The texture.
The color.
Even the edges...
It all felt strangely familiar.
Like she had seen it years ago.
But where?
Her fingers tightened inside her gloves.
She searched her memory.
Nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
"...Naomi?"
Logan called again.
She blinked and looked at him.
"I've seen this paper before."
Logan frowned.
"Are you sure?"
"I don't know."
She looked back at it.
"I can't remember where..."
A strange feeling settled in her chest.
One she couldn't explain.
Almost like...
Someone wanted her to remember.
She took one slow step back.
Then another.
Her eyes never left the confession.
Who was The Fallen Saint...
And why did his confession paper feel connected to her past?
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